Page 36 of Vow to Protect
As Brett had instructed, the door knocked twice. I pressed my ear to the door, wandering if he was waiting on the other side. When I opened it, there were boxes—lots of boxes and zero signs of him.
He bought me garlic bread, cheesy garlic bread, a margarita pizza, a meaty pizza and even a vegan pizza. An hour later another knock on the door brought a crate of exotic fruit and freshly pressed juices. With each sip, my heart bubbles and doubles in beats. It was a thoughtful gesture from a man so incredibly shut off.
I moved from Southern Ireland to Barcelona when I was nineteen. The whole Spanish vibe and sunshine was more fitting to my soul. Being an artist was both a choice and a lifestyle. It suited me to rent a small city apartment and live off pineapple, watermelon and crusty bread with cheese. A meagre sporadic wage paid the bills and stocked the fridge. I didn't need, nor crave luxury. There was happiness in simplicity. I thrived on independence, and most of all, I was free. I spent my days wandering the streets for inspiration or splashing bland canvases with colour.
Over the years, I dated a bartender, a server and even the naked male model from a community clay molding class, yet I never really connected with one guy long enough to care if he left. When they did, a thin cloud of loneliness was never too far away, always misting over when friends spoke of their lover spats or family gatherings.
I’ve taught myself to have gratitude for the simple things in life, not the ostentatious. I’d rather camp under the stars than spend a night in a stately hotel, travel the world by train rather than private jet, or wear handmade cami’s instead of overpriced designer labels.
This apartment, although austere, is exactly my style, if not a bit too big. I’d spend my day’s cleaning instead of painting. The building seems old at heart with a lick of new life. It wouldn’t suit Natalie’s tastes. Where I love uncomplicated, she adored all things glittery and gold. I bonded with history, and she desired modern. In the end, I suspect she would have settled for a mud hut if it meant staying alive.
Natalie wished for Dublin to give her answers and offer her more chances of luck. She found neither. The pot of gold at the bottom of the rainbow was robbed, and lady luck was an infrequent liar.
Our father was murdered, and we’ll never know why. Natalie was murdered, and I'll always remember how.
Dressed in a baggy tee and panties, I graze and drink until I’m full and sleepy. Instead of climbing into bed, I curl up on the armchair and sniff faint musky cologne. A surge of heat and intrigue crescents in a wave of goosebumps down my back. He’s off limits, yet I can’t stop wondering when I’ll see him again.
I study the precious faces guarding the room. All of them happy and carefree in heaven. Each member of my family met an untimely end. I’m not ready to join them. I don't want to die young without falling in love, selling more art and—belonging. That’s a new concept to me. A feeling that’s crept into my consciousness without warning.
As my lashes flutter shut, I consider the idea of a new start, returning to a life without attachments. Brett’s message was loud and clear. There will be nothing between us, not even family ties. We’ll go our separate ways like neither existed. That unsettling thought carries me back into my hellish nightmares.
I scream.
I can’t breathe.
Blood spatters.
A lock clicks and I bolt upright, eyes wide open. Heavy footsteps cover the floorboards. A deep groan makes my muscles quake.
No! Blaine’s men have found me.
I dive off the armchair in a race to wedge the nightstand against the bedroom door. Before I have the chance to barricade myself in, the door swings in on me. My heart lurches. I stumble out of the way.
Streetlights pour in through the unfurnished windows, spreading a coral glaze over the man slumped against the frame. His hood is pulled high. Arms folded and each breath hard and fast. My silence skates over fear when his hand gingerly lifts, more so cautious than threatening. He drags the hood away from tousled strands and meets my gaze.
“I didn't mean to startle you.” Brett winces. “I need an ice-cold bath.”
When the light catches, a trail of dark fluid stripes his cheekbone. He’s bleeding. “What the hell happened?” I pad forward. “Are you okay?” By the way he hisses when his legs move, I know he’s far from okay. “Did Blaine do this to you?” My hands tremble with nerves and anger.
Brett’s features remain tight and indecipherable, only adding to his masculinity. A wicked thrill stirs inside me. Fear kissed with desire buzzes and skitters. I’m drawn to this rebellious man with cuts and grit even more so than before. Seeing him bloodied, sensing vibrations of stamina and determination—only makes the attraction stronger. It's an impressive combination set to curse and taunt me.
“I have to hide out here for tonight. I don’t want Tilly to see me like this in the morning.” He skirts the room like his limbs are on fire, staying close to the walls for an invisible support. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
His shoulders remain high. The only giveaway sign of unbearable pain is the hand cradling his abdomen.
“Let me help you.” I dart around the armchair, incapable of watching him suffer in stubborn silence. “Please. Let me run a bath for you. Sit down here until it's ready.”
He smells of sweat and metal. Not unpleasant, more macho, with an element of godly power. Brett barely glances back at me, halting my retreat when I find his eyes turbulent and shut down. “I don't need any help. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.” The cool, scratchy tone to his voice ripples in both caution and contrition.
Anarchy whips around my organs when he disappears into the shadows and locks the bathroom door behind him.
My stomach knots. This is all my fault. He’s hurt because of me, and now he’s here, in my apartment. But it's not mine. It belongs to him.
Confusion propels me to pace. Water gushes, hitting the bottom of the tub, sounding like a band of spooked mares. All I can do is wait for him to come out and face me with the truth.
By asking for his help, I more or less handed him sparked dynamite and waited for the explosion. A malevolent temper singes and soars. I’m powerless. Blaine has taken away my sister, my independence, and now he’s fucking with the only man on the planet who has ever done anything for me.
By the time the door creaks open, I’m spitting vengeance, muttering hate and stomping a mindless track. The energy in the room zaps from hot-tempered to awe-struck when he finally emerges, wrapped only in a towel from the waist down.
